


In everlasting watch and moveless woe

by alokos



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gwen’s sorrowful, M/M, Merlin is devastated, lots of waiting and grieving, sadness and melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alokos/pseuds/alokos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five moments while Merlin awaits for Arthur’s return;<br/>four times the lake sits still,<br/>and one time it does not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In everlasting watch and moveless woe

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from Elizabeth Barret Browning’s poem _Grief_  
>  i admit i went a little bit out of topic with the time Merlin has to wait, but i really think he would wait forever for Arthur, so i made it clear
> 
> i’m putting here the meanings of the flowers mentioned in the story  
>  **cyclamen** ( _cyclamen_ ) – shy hope  
>  **calendula** ( _calendula officinalis_ ) – pain, grief or torment
> 
> i really hope you enjoy this little thing, and feedback is always appreciated!

 

_I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous man,_  
_the lonely soul,_  
_the wanderer,_  
_the restless frustrated artist,_  
_the man in love with love,_  
_always in search of the absolute,_  
_always seeking the unattainable._  
_– Henry Miller, Stand Still Like the Hummingbird_

 

 

 

 

  
**i.**  
A week has passed and Merlin is miserable.  
The memories he has of Arthur haunt him every waking moment and his dreams became nightmares full of darkness and screams – so many screams, so many different voices, shouting at him, angry and desperate and disappointed and resigned.  
He cannot bring himself to move, to _do something_ and apologise to Camelot and to Gwen – for not having enough power, for not bringing him back.

It has been two years and Merlin wishes the earth would open up under his feet and swallow him whole.  
He’s been to Camelot, disguised as an old man, and has heard the tales about King Arthur – about his courage and his deeds, how deeply he loved his kin and his land, how he respected everyone – and the tales about his loyal servant, too.  
He tries to avoid the sorrowful ballads about the Fallen King and the Heartbroken Queen.  
But no one sings about the Grieving Sorcerer.

Fifty years have passed when he tries to get into the lake – if to drown or to search for Arthur he does not know. His magic keeps him away, on the shore and then further behind, in the woods.  
At night he recites spells, his voice high under the stars and his eyes gold and alight like the sun; hands thrown up in the air, throat sore and burning, he stares helplessly at the light reflected on the dark water.  
The next day, hundreds of bright orange calendulas cover the grounds around the lake for miles.

 

 

  
**ii.**  
“You have waited enough.”  
It has been more than one hundred years and Morgana’s voice is steady.  
He’s seen her coming to life again, daughter of fire and mother of ashes – her eyes no longer showed wounded pride nor were clouded by rage; her raven hair was shorter and her smile resembled the one she wore when he first had met her. She looked beautiful like that, fragile like a newborn and confused to be there again. But he had been patient, showing those clear eyes the things that had changed and the ones that had not, feeling a pang of jealousy at the flashes of curiosity and wonder in her eyes, because she had the luck of a new fresh start – he did not have it, he could not try and be someone else, someone _better_.  
Merlin sighs and looks down at his hands, at the little lilac cyclamen he’s holding.  
He doesn’t need to turn and look at her to know she disapproves of how he is spending his time, or that she is worried, under that stubbornness of hers, and that she is waiting, too.  
She knows like him that time can heal wounds but this one is still so fresh and open, so raw nothing can soothe it. Yet.  
But she does not know what time does – how it brings people on the verge of madness and crashes all their hopes in front of them, how everyday he wants to _go_ and _see_ and _live_ but a little voice at the back of his head murmurs ‘maybe today’ and he cannot bring himself to even get up from the ground.

 

 

  
**iii.**  
When Gwen comes five thousands years have passed and he does not look at her.  
They sit in silence, watching the shore and the few waves gently moving on the surface of the lake.  
She breathes deeply then takes his hand in hers.  
It is unexpected, and Merlin flinches at first but does not withdraw – he may be utterly ashamed and desperate, but he is selfish, oh so selfish, and just wants this, wants _something_ to hold him together – and she tangles their fingers in a firm grip.  
Her hand is warm and smooth, a reassuring and familiar touch in the thunderstorm that has become his life.  
“It was not your fault.”  
He almost wants to laugh, an ugly and hollow laugh – because how was it _not_ his fault? – but he doesn’t and settles for a quick squeeze and a sideways glance instead.  
Gwen is beautiful, but everything that has happened weights her down – something is off with her smile and her eyes have seen too much, her posture is impeccable but he can see through it all.  
Gwen is _tired_. Like him, maybe more or maybe less.  
She leaves shortly after, pausing a moment to touch his shoulder.  
“He loved you, in that strange way of his. He loved you the most.”  
She says, and Merlin can hear his insides crumbling and his mind rolling and he’s talking before he knows it.  
“I am so sorry.”  
The words are pronounced distinctly even if his voice is rough from not talking in centuries and chocked by the emotion.

 

 

  
**iv.**  
Sometimes it rains.  
Merlin does not move, he stays on the shore and waits, the rain pouring down on him.  
In spring, he always has a cyclamen in his hands, or behind one of his ears, or tucked somewhere in his clothes.  
In winter and autumn he hugs his legs and keeps his chin on them, a small fire cackling near, gaze straight ahead.

Sometimes he sleeps for days.  
Every time, he wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, the whisper of a spell on his lips, eyes shining gold and body shaking.  
He breathes and tries to calm his mind.  
The shaking never goes away.

Not everyone comes to visit or searches for him – he doubts everyone will remember, but he had hoped, after Gwen and Morgana.  
Gaius never comes and Merlin tries very hard not to think how old his soul must have been, or how he misses the days in Camelot with him.

He wants Arthur back.

 

 

  
**v.**  
It really seems like any other day, but Merlin can feel it – the subtle hint of _something_ , a light buzz that echoes all around him. It’s like the whole world is going on like usual but at the same time is preparing for something big.  
He’s guarded, carefully observing everything his eyes can reach – plants and animals, but there is no one else but him.  
And then when Arthur surfaces from the calm water of the lake in all his glory Merlin almost wants to laugh – because, _really_ , what else could it have been?  
Instead, he settles for running towards Arthur and hugging him, almost making them both fall underwater.  
“You’re back, oh god you’re back.”  
“Have you always been this clingy sap, _Mer_ lin?”  
He doesn’t pay his words any attention, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Arthur’s neck, touching and kissing everything he can reach – shoulder, neck, jaw, cheek.  
He squeaks when Arthur slips a hand on his waist and the other through his hair, bringing him closer.  
Arthur is kissing him and, _oh god_ , Merlin wants to faint.  
“You enormous _prat_. You don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for you. I should just leave you here to deal with … with everything!”  
“M’sorry, won’t happen again.”  
“It better not!”  
Nevertheless, all the time that has passed is worth this – worth Arthur _here_ , with him, kissing him and keeping him close and calling him names.

**Author's Note:**

> this is really not the best work about a grieving Merlin on the shore of Avalon but i tried, i really did and i hope it came out as something readable and (maybe if i’m lucky) enjoyable


End file.
